


Anyway

by Sherctorrunning23



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, F/F, Unrequited Love, realisation of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 18:12:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8295287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherctorrunning23/pseuds/Sherctorrunning23
Summary: She knew that she loved her in psychology, period five.





	

She knew that she loved _her_ in psychology, period five. 

They’d been friends for just over a year. Coincidentally, it was the year in which her parents had separated, and she had gone through a whole range of traumatic mental illnesses (depression and anxiety combined with the already-present OCD and autism to create a true monster) whilst coping with her GCSEs. That was probably why she hadn't noticed before, she thought later: she was much too busy to notice how the sunlight made _her_ hair look lighter, or _her_ eyes sparkled when _she_ talked about something _she_ loved: she was too sidetracked to notice how _her_ hands danced when _she_ talked, or _her_ mouth turned up in one corner when _she_ noticed somebody was noticing _her_. She wasn't fair to _her_ before she realised she loved _her_ : a lot of the time she thought _she_ was annoying, a coward, unnecessarily anxious, and there were times in that year when she stopped talking to _her_ altogether because she just _couldn't cope_ with _her_ eccentricities. _She_ seemed to need her a lot more than she needed _her._ She liked that, but it stopped her seeing what she actually, truly felt. 

_I can see her flaws, and she is perfect._

They moved into the sixth form and everything was reversed. Suddenly _she_ was popular, _she_ had all the friends, and _she_ didn't seem to need her, and now she remembered all of the good things. She remembered their six hour conversations over Snapchat, well into the early hours of the morning, and how _she_ would hug her every single time _she_ saw her, even when she didn't know she needed it. She remembered how selfless _she_ was, and she remembered how much _she_ cared, even when nobody else did. 

They were barely friends when she realised that she loved _her._ They hadn't talked for weeks, and she had tried to convince herself that she didn't need _her,_ that she had other friends, that she was better off without, even. She tried not to notice the way the sunlight made _her_ hair lighter, or that _her_ eyes sparkled when _she_ talked about something _she_ loved, or that _her_ hands danced when _she_ talked and _her_ mouth turned up in the corner when _she_ noticed someone watching _her:_ she ignored _her_ when she caught her watching, and didn't reply to _her_ messages, even though she needed _her_ just as much as she had needed _her_ before. Maybe more. She stayed in delicious denial, until psychology, period five. 

She was watching _her._ They sat in the same row, separated by two seats and an aisle, and _she_ didn't notice that she was watching her: she didn't notice that she was watching _her_ until she realised that she couldn't see _her_ flaws anymore, or at least she saw them and didn't notice them. She didn't like _her_ shoes, and _her_ nose was slightly crooked, but that didn't matter because she was beautiful anyway. 

_She’s more beautiful than anybody I have ever seen._

It wasn't a lie, it was the absolute truth. She had never seen anybody more beautiful than _she,_ though she knew there were plenty of people who were: at that moment, _she_ was perfect, and her heart was aching just looking at her. 

She had learnt a lot about _her_ since they’d become friends. She’d learnt that _she_ hated her father, adored _her_ sister, disliked one of _her_ closest friends, wanted to be a dress designer, only liked girls, cried when _she_ read sad books. She’d learnt that _she_ played Mario Kart like a professional, would do anything for a friend, didn’t like _her_ hash browns with onions, had never read the seventh Harry Potter book, and she remembered all of this as she watched _her_ from across the classroom, but she remembered a lot more. She remembered how brave _she_ was, how selfless, how loving, how gentle. She remembered how _she_ would give up anything if someone needed her, how _she_ never let anyone see _she_ was sad, how _she_ would only swear inside her head, just in case _she_ offended somebody around her. 

She knew that she loved _her_ then in psychology, period five, and she didn't care. It was hopeless, _she_ would never know, they would both leave this room and never speak to each other again, most likely, but that didn't matter, not in that moment. 

She watched _her,_ and she remembered what it felt like to hold _her_ in her arms, and she loved _her_ in that moment, because she would never allow herself to love _her_ again. 

She couldn't help herself, though, when she allowed herself to look into _her_ eyes, brown and warm and brilliant. She let herself feel, and then she locked it away. 

_Love is painful, love is brutal, love is pointless, love is heartbreaking, but I can’t help but love her anyway._


End file.
